


An Unfair Fight

by Twice_before_Friday



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Concussions, Derogatory Language, Fighting, Gen, Hurt Gil, Hurt/Comfort, Scrappy Malcolm, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22319923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twice_before_Friday/pseuds/Twice_before_Friday
Summary: Gil and Malcolm go looking for a suspect in a string of brutal homicides, but things don't go exactly to plan.
Comments: 38
Kudos: 138





	An Unfair Fight

**Author's Note:**

> I am so effing excited for episode 11 tomorrow that it's making me sick. Writing fan fic is the only thing keeping me from bursting at the seams. Lol!
> 
> I don't think this really needed the tags for graphic descriptions of violence or derogatory language, but figured better safe than sorry.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Gil came to slowly, nearby sounds subtly filtering in as if he were underwater; distorted and muffled and impossible to make any sense of. He drifted in and out for quite some time, memories remaining abstract and just out of reach, floating past in a haze as he tried in vain to latch on to a single thought for longer than a second or two at a time. 

Eventually he noticed a low-grade buzz of apprehension thrumming through his body, making the otherwise pleasant drifting sensation feel uncomfortable. Menacing. He started to get the feeling that he should be worried, but couldn't quite figure out why.

The sounds started to clarify before his thoughts did. Grunting. The unmistakable sound of a fist making contact with flesh. Shouting. Too much shouting.

Gil scrunched his eyes shut tighter, confusedly thinking it would block out the noise that was assaulting his ears. But as the noises became louder, more defined, his other senses gradually started kicking back in too. 

Awareness of his body settled around him, distracting him momentarily from whatever uproar was happening nearby. The back of his head was throbbing in time with his pulse, the sickening thud-thud-thud making his stomach churn as a wave of nausea washed over him. His body curled in on itself as he fought to keep himself from vomiting, instinctively trying to nestle into a fetal position, but a sharp bite at his wrists kept him from wrapping his arms around his knees. His shoulders were aching from the position he was in, arms pulled back behind his body, but he couldn't quite figure out how to remedy that. His brain finally made the connection that the cold press of wood against his shoulder, down his arm, and through his hip and leg meant that he was on the floor, but couldn't seem to form any links in his mind as to why that might be. 

The deep breaths he was taking to try to quell the nausea left him keenly aware of the coppery tang of blood in the air, the pungent stench coating his tongue and sliding into the back of his throat. He abruptly lost the battle with his heaving stomach, the contents of which spilled onto the floor in front of him. A passing thought was thankful that he was on his side when it happened, but he couldn't hang onto the thought long enough to sort out why. The increase in pressure as he vomited left his head spinning, his body finally deciding 'fuck this' as he slipped back into blessed unconsciousness.

The next time Gil woke up, the pain was still there but some of the fuzziness had abated, leaving him a little less confused. And lot more concerned. He took a moment to get his bearings and sort out where he was before opening his eyes and alerting his captors that he was awake.

The team had been investigating a series of victims found beaten to death. The bodies were some of the most gruesome things he'd seen in his decades on the force; their faces were left a pulpy mess, making identification by anything other than DNA impossible, and there were dozens of broken bones in each victim. They barely even passed as human. It took nearly three weeks of late nights and early mornings, the entire team pushing past their limits, before Malcolm's profile finally matched up with a suspect.

Gene Sandberg was a 42 year old stock trader, and ticked all of the boxes of Malcolm’s profile when he came up on a witness list at one of the crime scenes, inserting himself into the investigation as Malcolm had predicted. Unis had been sent to his house to bring him in for questioning once the connection was made but he had obviously figured out the police were onto him and had taken off in a hurry. A detailed search of his assets turned up two properties held by a numbered company linked to him through various shell corporations, that would make for a good place to lie low. Gil sent Dani and JT to look into the warehouse in Brooklyn, while he and Malcolm checked out an old farm up in Rockland County.

According to the property survey, the farm was 12 acres with several outbuildings beyond the large house that had been constructed in the 1970's. The farm had been non-operational since 2006 which, Gil decided, made it an odd investment for a stock trader. 

There was no answer at the farmhouse, so Gil and Malcolm made their way one by one through the outbuildings on the land, looking for any sign that Sandberg had been there. As they approached a large timeworn barn near the middle of the property, a number of agitated voices could be heard from inside, and Gil noted at least 3 cars parked within view. He motioned for Malcolm to remain hidden from view as he sent a text to Dani and JT, telling them that they had movement at the farm. 

With a roll of his eyes, Malcolm crouched behind a broke-down tractor about 30 feet from the building as Gil quietly made his way closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was happening in the barn without alerting the inhabitants to his presence. He crept to the window near the corner of the barn, but just as he brought his face to the glass, a blurred movement to his side registered in his peripheral vision. He didn't even have time to turn, just heard Malcolm yell a panicked "Gil!" before a blinding pain burst over the back of his head and his world went black.

 _Malcolm_. Gil felt a surge of panic as he realized that Malcolm had blown his cover to try to warn Gil. His eyes shot open but he remained as still as possible while he assessed his injuries and his surroundings.

His head hurt. A lot. And judging by the vomit in front of his face and the foul taste in his mouth, it was his, even if he didn't remember throwing up. So, likely a concussion. He was still laying on his side and could feel that his hands were cuffed behind his back. He had a momentary swell of rage that they had used his own goddamn handcuffs to restrain him, but all of it, _all of it_ , flew out the window when he saw Bright.

There was a cage set up in the center of the barn, some sort of jerry-rigged MMA knock-off, and Bright was inside with a man twice his size. They were circling one another with raised fists and Gil's stomach dropped as he noticed the amount of blood on Malcolm’s face, shirt, and knuckles.

Gil took a quick look around, keeping as motionless as possible. He clocked three men standing outside the cage, hollering and banging on the metal, cheering their friend on. Gene Sandberg was nowhere to be seen, but Gil didn't doubt that he was around there somewhere, which meant there were at least five men to contend with.

His attention was drawn back to the cage as the large man took a swing at Malcolm, who was able to dodge the worst of it but still took a glancing blow to the chin. Gil watched as Malcolm gave his head a shake and bounced on his feet, obviously trying to shake off the hit. The large man threw a few more punches, which Malcolm easily avoided, before Malcolm feinted left and gave two quick jabs with his right, both landing hard on the man's cheek bone.

The man stumbled backwards, clearly stunned by the blows and Malcolm lunged forward, taking full advantage of the man's dropped guard. He landed four blows to his face and body before the man howled and threw himself forward, tackling Malcolm like a football player, knocking them both of them onto the hard floor.

Gil's breathing stuttered to a halt as Malcolm hit the ground, head bouncing off the worn planks with a thump that he could hear even over the excited shouts of the other three men. The large man got to his knees while Malcolm was dazed from the fall and brought his fist down in two fierce blows to the side of Malcolm’s abdomen before Malcolm had the presence of mind to roll to side, barely escaping a third hit. Instead, the man's fist drove hard into the floor boards and he screamed as the bones of his hand fractured on impact.

Malcolm used the momentum from his roll to swing himself around, wind-milling his legs to bring his foot down solidly against the man's head. _That's my boy_ , Gil thought as the man crumpled to the floor, out cold before his body even landed.

But the relief was short lived. The three men outside the cage hurried to the door with mumbled curses, unlocking the padlock and rushing in. Malcolm quickly got to his feet and backed as far away as the cage would allow, pressing himself against the metal while keeping a weary eye on the men. Two of the men went over to the unconscious man and grabbed his arms, pulling him towards the door of the cage. It was the first time Gil noticed that one of the men was already sporting a split lip and swollen eye, and he realized that the unconscious man on the floor was likely not the first fight for Malcolm.

While the men were occupied with getting their buddy out of the cage, Gil worked on hauling himself up to a seated position. He had to squeeze his eyes shut as the room spun on its axis, leaving him lightheaded and worried about throwing up again as the bile rose in his throat.

But even with the world whirling in ever-faster circles, his jaw clenched in fury as the men spoke, taunting Bright and treating the whole goddamn thing like a game.

"Fuck's sake, Ed. You let the pretty boy knock you out?" One of the men grunted.

"Hey, he's a wily fucker. Wait until it's your turn." another said.

"Jake's not getting a turn until the little faggot's already dead on the floor," the last one said. Then, obviously directing his attention to Malcolm, "I'm gonna fucking beat your ass, you fucking pussy."

The world slowly righted itself, even as the anger spiked hot through Gil's veins and he scooted himself back a few feet to the wall, using it to help him balance and get to his feet, listing dangerously to his left as yet another wave of dizziness struck. He was starting to doubt his ability to help Bright at all if he was barely able to keep upright, but he'd rather die then just lay still while a bunch of Fight Club wannabes used Bright as a glorified punching bag.

He looked around and spotted his badge and gun tossed on top of a crate about halfway down the wall. He hoped that the floodlights that were set up to illuminate the cage would be enough to keep the men from noticing his movement as he slowly made his way over, leaning heavily on the planked walls to keep his balance.

He had just reached the crate as the two men dragging the unconscious man (Ed, Gil's mind helpfully supplied) stepped out of the cage. Gil noticed the keys to the cuffs on the crate beside his gun and turned around as quickly as he could manage to try to grab them with his cuffed hands. It took a bit of fumbling, but he soon had the keys in hand, working to get the key in the lock by feel alone.

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb were dragging Ed to a couch on the other side of the barn, stopping only long enough to snap the lock back on the gate, calling out to their friend as they went.

"Make him bleed, Ryan!"

"Yeah, fuck him up good."

Gil was struggling to make his hands cooperate, his coordination suffering as a result of the blow to his head. His breathing picked up as he watched Ryan and Malcolm start circling in the cage. He wanted to scream, wanted to tell the little shit to back away from the kid, but he knew that the element of surprise was the only thing he currently had going for him, so he bit his tongue and kept working the key.

Ryan took the first shot, a one-two combo that Malcolm was clearly expecting and was able to block with his arms, but Gil winced at the power behind the hits and knew that Malcolm's arms had to be throbbing. Malcolm immediately tried to feint left but Ryan didn't go for it, dodging Malcolm's jab and slamming his fist into the side of Malcolm’s ribs. The thud of the impact was a blow to Gil's heart and his breath caught in his chest even as Malcolm's left him in a whoosh.

But the kid was fast. And well trained. He was back in form before Ryan had the chance to throw another punch, ducking under a wide swing and getting behind him, landing a kidney punch and a kick to the back of his knee, dropping Ryan to the floor as he tried to turn to face Bright.

Gil nearly sobbed with relief as he finally fit the key in the cuff's keyhole and gave it a sharp turn. 

Unfortunately, Tweedle Dum happened to choose that moment to look over towards Gil. They locked eyes from across the barn and froze, time standing still for a heartbeat, before all hell broke loose.

"Fuck! The cop's up."

The one with the busted lip was on his feet and running towards Gil before the sentence was even finished. 

Gil grabbed the gun from the crate, and brought it up in a two handed grip, handcuffs dangling limply off of his left wrist.

"NYPD. Don't move," Gil stated as firmly as he could manage, cycling deep breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth as he attempted to keep the gun even and steady.

As the charging man hesitated at the sight of the gun, Gil chanced a look over towards Malcolm. Ryan was still on his knees with Malcolm behind him but Bright had wrangled him into a crushing choke hold, the bend of his elbow compressing the man's trachea. Bright was grunting and struggling to stay upright as the man thrashed beneath him and tried to buck him off.

At the sound of his voice, Malcolm’s head snapped over to Gil, relief shining brightly in his eyes, even through the smears of blood coating his face. Ryan took full advantage of Malcolm's distraction, reaching around to grab the back Bright's neck and yanking forward, flipping Bright over his shoulder and slamming him hard into the ground directly in front of Ryan.

"Bright!" Gil yelled and stumbled forward, gun hand drooping as his vision swam. Split Lip saw his opportunity and rushed forward to clear the distance between them, shouting in incoherent rage as he charged. Decades of police training kicked in, muscle memory taking over as Gil fired two shots, both hitting center mass when the man was less than 5 feet away.

Even with the force of the bullets ripping into him, the momentum of his attack carried Split Lip directly into Gil, both of them crumbling into a heap on the floor. Gil's moan was cut off by the bulk of the man landing on top of him, forcing the air from his lungs, even as he nearly blacked out again when his head made contact with the floor. Gil vaguely noticed Tweedle Dum make a run for it at the sound of gunfire, but his spotty vision was drawn inexorably to the cage.

Ryan had maneuvered into a vicious ground and pound, knees splayed on either side of Malcolm’s waist and practically sitting on his stomach as he unleashed a flurry of punches and elbows on the man below him. Malcolm was caught between trying to block the blows and trying to escape the unfavourable position he found himself in.

Adrenaline flooded Gil's system as he watched the kid getting pummeled; watched fists rain down on his face and chest, watched as an elbow hit his head so hard it split his eyebrow and sent a stream of blood flowing down his face, watched as Malcolm tried to protect his head at the expense of his ribs. 

The thought of Bright being beaten to death by that sick fuck cleared the black spots from Gil's vision and left him seeing red. He mustered all of his strength to shove the literal dead weight off of him, studiously ignoring the warm wetness that had spilled over his chest as the man bled out on him.

Gil rolled onto his stomach and slowly got into his hands and knees, ignoring the pain in his head as his eyes swept the ground to look for the gun that was thrown from his grasp when he was knocked to the floor. It had only slid a few feet away and he hurriedly crawled over and wrapped his hand around the grip.

As he made his way over to the cage, still on hands and knees, he spared a glance to make sure that Ed was still unconscious on the couch, sending up a prayer of thanks that the man remained out cold. Gil swallowed hard as the nausea threatened to overtake him but kept moving towards the cage.

He was crawling forward when he saw Malcolm trap Ryan's arm and pull him down with a hard jerk, at the same time bucking his hips to throw the man entirely off balance. Ryan was briefly knocked off of Malcolm, but the man quickly tried to regain his position. Once again, Malcolm's speed and agility proved more beneficial than brute strength alone as he regained his feet and darted to the other side of the cage before Ryan had a chance to pin him down again.

Gil dropped his head between his shoulders and closed his eyes for a moment, relief coursing through him that Malcolm had bought him some time. Within seconds, though, he was crawling forward again, watching as Ryan and Malcolm started circling one another again.

Gil noticed that Malcolm was starting to sway on his feet, saw that he was blinking rapidly as if he were trying to clear his vision. But still he dodged the right hook that came flying at him, and even managed to hit Ryan hard on the jaw with a well placed cross as Ryan pulled his arm back.

"NYPD. Get on your knees now," Gil's voice quaked as he tried to get Ryan to back away. He wasn't sure if Ryan didn't hear him, fueled as he was on the adrenaline of the fight, or if he just didn't care, but he didn't even glance Gil's way. Instead, he kicked hard at Malcolm's leg, knocking him halfway to the floor as Malcolm caught himself on one knee.

Gil had finally reached the cage and was using it to help haul himself to his feet, readying himself to fire through the spaces in the metal if he couldn't talk Ryan down, when Bright launched himself to his feet and used the force of his rising to land a brutal uppercut under Ryan's jaw. Ryan's head snapped back, his body following close behind and he fell stiffly to the floor with a loud thump. Gil and Malcolm both waited a second in suspense, but Ryan was down for the count.

Leaning his head against the cage, Gil let out a relieved breath. Malcolm's fingers soon laid over his where they were gripping the wire.

"Are you alright, Gil?" Malcolm asked, worry evident in his voice.

Gil didn't even open his eyes as he chuckled, "I should be asking you that. You're the one that went three rounds with a group of killers."

Malcolm squeezed his fingers a little tighter before answering. "None of their other victims had any martial arts training. I think they were caught off guard to have someone who knew how to fight back. I'm fine, Gil."

Gil opened his eyes and took in the blood that was still dripping down Bright's face and onto his white dress shirt, his eye that was swelling at a rapid pace, the angry red marks covering his skin that would certainly be bruises in the morning. He cocked an eyebrow at the kid in disbelief.

Malcolm rolled his eyes with a smirk on his face. "Okay, I'm like, 90%. But I'll be fine. Really. I'm more concerned about you."

Gil was about to answer that it's just a concussion when he noticed Malcolm's eyes go wide. Gil slowly turned his head and saw Gene Sandberg entering the barn with a hunting rifle raised and ready to fire.

"I hate to interrupt this touching moment," he said, slowly making his way closer to the cage, "but there's something in here I really need before I go." He gestured with the gun for Gil to drop his sidearm.

Gil slowly lowered his gun to the ground, holding tightly to the cage with his other hand to keep his balance as the room spun from the movement. He felt Malcolm's fingers holding tight around his own and let the contact ground him as he straightened up.

Sandberg walked backwards towards the couch where Ed was still lying unconscious, keeping the gun aimed towards Gil and Malcolm. Gil hadn't even noticed the leather messenger bag at the end of the couch until Sandberg grabbed it up and slung it over his shoulder. He started making his way back to the barn door but stopped, looking back and forth between the door and Gil, clearly debating if he should just make a run for it or if he should take out the witnesses.

"Hey," Malcolm said calmly, raising his hands in a non-threatening way, "I'm locked in here and he's in no fit state to come after you. You can leave now and we won't follow you. Your best chance for a clean getaway is to walk out that door right now."

Gil marveled once again at Malcolm's ability to remain calm and make his suggestions sound perfectly reasonable, like he's just trying to help. Gene bit his lip as he considered his options, but even Gil could tell the moment he made the decision that killing the witnesses would be better for him. Gil took a shuttering breath and tried to angle his body as best he could in front of Malcolm as Sandberg took aim.

Two shots rang out and Gil held his breath, waiting for a pain that never came. Dani and JT rushed into the barn with weapons drawn, sweeping the area before heading over to the cage. Gil sagged against the cage behind his back, sliding down to sit on the floor and cradling his head in his hands.

"Boss, you good?" Dani asked, placing a hand on Gil's shoulder. He could hear the sounds of rustling followed by a lock springing open and the creak of a gate swinging, and suddenly Malcolm was crouched down in front of him, lifting his head and looking into his eyes.

"He needs an ambulance," Malcolm frowned as he tracked Gil's pupils.

"I don't think he's the only one that needs an ambulance," JT muttered, taking in Malcolm's appearance along with the two unconscious men and two dead men in the room.

"Already on site," Dani said to Malcolm, ignoring JT's comment. "They're just waiting for the all clear to come in."

JT radioed for the medics and moved over to collect the rifle as Dani and Malcolm kept an eye on Gil.

"You did good, kid." Gil said faintly, face still cupped in Malcolm's hands. Malcolm's smile was small but sincere as he moved out of the way to make room for the medics as they hurried into the room.

Gil leaned his head back and closed his eyes, knowing the team would take care of everything and he could rest a while. 

At a sudden thought, he blinked his eyes open and looked at Dani. "One got away. Name's Jake." He said tiredly.

"We're on it, boss. Just let the medics take care of you." Dani said with a worried smile.

He looked over to Malcolm, who was trying to brush off the paramedic that was looking him over, but JT's brusque "For fuck's sake, dude, let the man do his job" settled him down and he let the medic continue his exam.

Gil smiled as he closed his eyes again, letting the darkness wash over him, secure in his team’s presence.


End file.
